


It's A Match

by theaa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (sort of), F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaa/pseuds/theaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not for the first time Sansa thinks longingly of the quiet night out she’d had planned - some pad thai, some Netflix, some alone time. Instead she’s Margaery’s plus one for the latest in a string of Tinder dates. // AKA the one where Jon saves Sansa from a creep at a bar, Margaery schemes, Robb is embarrassing, and everyone gets more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Match

Sansa pauses on the sidewalk and stares at the pulsating neon sign hung crookedly on the door of the small bar in front of her. The place says it’s open, but the ‘n’ keeps on guttering out, flickering lamely into the night. The windows at the front are grimy, but alight with an orange glow, black shadows moving across the glass to hint at the people inside, and there’s a thrumming bass line escaping from under the door, something dirty and rocky and much too loud. In short, the place looks a total dive, and Sansa’s lips purse in disapproval. She glances up at the bar’s name with the last hope that Google Maps has led her to the wrong place; but no, Winter Town Bar is daubed in peeling paint on the swinging sign above her head. Sansa heaves a sigh. Of all the places for Margaery’s Tinder date to pick to meet, he had to pick this one. The place looks like every bar Sansa’s imagined in every story she’s heard about the dangers of meeting strangers from the internet. Perfect.

Pulling her phone out of her jeans pocket, Sansa checks her messages, but no, Margaery hasn’t been in touch, so she’s obviously arrived before her. Not for the first time Sansa thinks longingly of the quiet night out she’d had planned - some pad thai, some Netflix, some alone time. Instead she’s Margaery’s plus one for the latest in a string of Tinder dates, because apparently this guy preferred to plunge everyone back to the nineties and double date. Now she was outside the bar, with no Margaery and no idea either of the two men she was supposed to be meeting. Sansa knew Margaery had been purposefully vague so as not to scare her off, keep up the idea of a light, fun evening. It was however, very unhelpful.

She shoots off a pissed-off text and then frowns at the bar’s frontage again. Much as she really doesn’t want to go inside, she suspects loitering on the sidewalk isn’t really a safe option either. Wiping her palms on the front of her jeans to steady herself, Sansa steps forwards and pushes the door open gingerly. Immediately the thumping bass from before over takes her. Inside, the bar is dimly lit, and a few other neon signs flash gaudily from the walls. To one side is the bar, with bar stools that don’t match pulled up to it haphazardly, some of them occupied. Beyond there’s a pool table, where some men are arguing over the score, and to the right is a line of red leather booths, the material ripped and worn. People look up as she walks in and Sansa feels stupidly self conscious in her dark wash skinny jeans, heels, and fussy, floral blouse. She feels the waves of judgement rolling over her, and it’s what spurs to her to stride straight over to the bar and hop onto one of the vacant seats, feigning confidence she doesn’t have.

The barman raises an eyebrow in her direction and then slowly puts down the rag he’s using to smear the glass in his hand to move reluctantly towards her.

‘What can I get you, love?’ 

Sansa’s lips tighten at the pet name, but the bartender is looking at her so dubiously that she ignores him and settles on the only drink she thinks she might get away with ordering in a place like this.

‘An old fashioned, please.’

The barman just simply nods at her, and Sansa guesses she’s at least passed this stage and ordered a non-embarrassing drink. While he goes about measuring the shots Sansa unlocks her phone, willing a text from Margaery to appear. She types out another few all caps messages and fires them off in quick succession and is startled out of angrily waiting for a reply by the bartender setting her drink smartly down in front of her, without a word.

Flustered, Sansa rummages in her purse to pull out a crisp bank note, and goes to hand it to the barman.

‘Put the little lady’s drink on my tab, yeah?’

The barman’s hand pauses, and both he and Sansa swivel to the right, where a a man is climbing onto the bar stool next to her. The barman just shrugs and moves back to the glasses he was wiping down earlier, while Sansa turns to the guy. He’s young, clean shaven, with a strong square jaw, and Sansa supposes that he could be considered quite handsome, but there’s something too deep set about his eyes that makes him a look a little crazed. He smiles widely at her and tips his beer bottle in her direction with a nod, but Sansa’s lips settle into a thin line.

‘I can buy my own drinks, thank you,’ she says firmly.

The guy just laughs. ‘Can’t a man buy a pretty lady a drink these days?’ He’s still smiling at her, but there’s something predatory about the way his eyes trail across her face and down her loose hair. His smile seems to twist up, and doesn’t match the harsh glint in his eyes.

‘You didn’t even ask - you presumed I would just take it,’ Sansa snaps.

‘Well, you have, haven’t you?’

Sansa rolls her eyes, and slides a bill to the bartender who cashes it silently, watching the two of them carefully. ‘Now, I haven’t. If you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting someone,’ she says.

The guy makes a show of looking around the small bar and then settles back to face her with a grin. ‘I don’t see anyone here just yet, do you? Relax, sweetheart. Talk to me. Smile a little, it won’t kill you.’

If there’s one thing Sansa hates in life, it’s being told to smile when she doesn’t feel like it. Her eyes narrow. ‘I already said no,’ she grits out.

The guy’s face changes in an instant, his smile fading to be replaced by a sour expression. ‘Prissy, aren’t you?’ he sneers.

She’s just about to bite out a retort when she feels a light touch on her shoulder. She wheels around on her stool, quite in the mood to yell at whoever else is trying to hit on her, but she doesn’t get a chance.

A guy with wild black curls and a scruffy beard is standing next to her, his eyebrows pulled into a deep frown. He ducks down to press a kiss to her cheek and Sansa can smell his cologne; something woodsy and fresh smelling. She’s too surprised to react before he’s straightening up and giving her a small smile. 

‘Sweetheart, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you walk in - and here you are waiting for me.’

The man’s voice is deep and gravelly, heavily accented with the north. Sansa thinks it’s quite possibly the sexiest voice she’s ever heard. She starts to reply, confused at his familiar greeting, sure he’s mistaking her for someone else, but he’s already turning away from her to level a glare at the creepy dude from before.

‘Is this man bothering you, love?’

‘Uhhh…’

‘We were just talking, man. No harm, no foul.’

The black haired man’s broad shoulders tense slightly. The denim shirt he’s wearing fits snugly enough across his shoulders for the movement to be noticeable. With his sleeves pushed up to his elbows, Sansa also sees his forearms flex.

‘I don’t appreciate you trying to talk to my girlfriend when she clearly isn’t interested.’

His tone is mild, but the dude would be a fool to mistake the veiled threat behind his words and in his posture. He takes a last swig of his beer and curls his lip at them both. ‘Whatever. You can have her.’

Sansa watches the guy stalk out of the bar and then turns to the man next to her. Her throat feels a little dry, all of a sudden. He’s relaxed all his muscles now and while a second ago he’d looked pretty intimidating Sansa marvels at the complete change in his demeanour. He adjusts his wire frame glasses on his nose and settles into the seat next to her, signalling for a drink. He catches the beer slid his way deftly and takes a pull.

His beard obscures a lot of his face, but his cheeks are smooth and pale. Somehow he manages to look both wiry and rough and soft and calm at the same time, Sansa thinks.

She expects him to say something, to introduce himself, but the man continues to drink silently next to her.

‘Uhm, thank you. For that. For getting that guy to leave. I appreciate it.’

He glances at her and gives her the smallest of lopsided smiles. ‘No problem. You could’ve handled yourself no doubt, but he was annoying me from across the room, so I thought I’d shorten the process.’

Sansa likes that he’s not trying to paint himself as her saviour or something, and returns his smile. ‘Still, thank you. Can I buy you a drink in repayment?’

He wiggles his bottle at her. ‘I’m good, thanks.’

They lapse into silence again, and Sansa feels a little awkward. There is still no sign of Margaery, and now this guy swooped in to save her, but apparently didn’t want to talk to her, even to pass the time.

‘You can go, if you’d like. My friends will be here soon, I’m sure,’ she says, trying to be polite. 

‘So will mine, hopefully. He’s bloody late though,’ he growls. 

Sansa laughs at his disgruntled expression. ‘Friends are the worst aren’t they? Mine are late too.’

‘I’ll wait with you until they arrive. In case the dick from before takes it into his head to come back.’

‘In that case, are you sure you won’t take that drink? I actually have no idea how long they’ll be. I haven’t heard from my room-mate in a while.’

The man motions to the bottle in his hand again. ‘Really, I’m fine.’

‘Oh, ok.’

Sansa gives up on the conversation and goes back to her own glass, taking a delicate sip. From the side she can feel her neighbour watching her and she tries to quieten the blush threatening to creep up her neck.

‘Are you seventy years old?’

Sansa splutters on her cocktail. ‘Excuse me?’ She turns to look at him, only to find a small teasing smile playing across his handsome face. It’s his eyes that give him away more than anything though, a calm grey colour, they sparkle out from under his glasses.

‘You’re drinking an old fashioned. Surely you know only grandparents drink Old Fashioneds these days?’

Sansa flushes. She had copied her father’s favourite cocktail, thinking that she should at least try for some credibility. ‘I panic ordered,’ she explains. 

‘Happens to the best of us.’

Sansa smiles at his response, glad he doesn’t intend to tease her further. ‘What would you suggest I order next….’ she trails off, waiting for him to supply his name. For a second he looks like he’s going to remain silent.

‘Jon. And you are?’

‘Sansa.’

‘Pretty. Strong name,’ he smiles. ‘And I’d recommend the Gin and Tonic here. Gods know what gin they use, and quite frankly I don’t want to know, but their G&Ts are damn good.’

Sansa is still blushing from his compliment. ‘Duly noted,’ she replies. ‘Thank you.’

‘Comes with being a regular, I suppose. You learn these things,’ Jon explains.

‘Yes, you do look like you come here a lot.’

His bark of laughter almost startles Sansa. ‘I can’t work out if that was line, or you calling me a hipster.’

‘Oh no! That wasn’t, I mean–’

‘I get it, don’t worry. Not the first time I’ve been called a hipster and it won’t be the last, I’m sure. But if I own up to it, does that make me not a hipster?’

Sansa laughs and pretends to think about it hard. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Makes you less likely to be pretentious, which is a good thing.’

‘Says the girl drinking an old fashioned, a pretentious drink if ever I saw one.’

‘Shut up!’ She swats at Jon’s arm, the back of her hand colliding with thick arm muscle, which makes her eyes widen just a little.

Searching for a change of subject to try and hide her reaction, she picks at her phone again. ‘I have no idea where my friends have got to! You know I’m only here because my room-mate arranged a Tinder date and I have to accompany her.’

‘How modern of her,’ Jon says, a hint of laughter behind his voice. She can tell that twenty first century dating apps don’t interest him, and she’s not surprised. Men like Jon couldn’t be assessed on three pictures and a lame biography. Men like Jon suited this kind of environment - the kind of guy you’d meet at a bar or at a gig venue or in a coffee house and who you’d secretly hope to see every time you went back there. 

‘She is. Very modern. She’s like that - social media savvy and all that.’

‘Social media confuses me,’ Jon admits. ‘Why does the world care what you’re doing?’

‘Most of the time they don’t, I guess. But she’s a whizz at it anyway. She runs a blog too.’

Jon frowns, looking exasperated. ‘I don’t get them, either.’

Sansa tips back her head and laughs and Jon’s own face cracks into a reluctant smile too. ‘A minute ago you accused me of being seventy and now you sound like an old man! Double standards, I feel.’

Jon’s eyes shine with mirth. ‘Guilty as charged.’

The door to the bar bangs open and both Jon and Sansa glance at the source of the noise, each hoping to see their friend. What they do not expect, however, is for their respective friends to enter together.

Margaery steps in to the bar, her arm hooked through the man at her side’s. Her partner is tall, his auburn hair curling in neat short waves to contrast with Margaery’s loose ash-brown ones. Margaery is chattering away and the man looks down at her amusedly. His head jerks up when two voices call out his name in unison, one angry, and one confused.

‘Robb?’

Immediately he adopts a sheepish expression, lagging back behind Margaery, who has plastered on a wide smile and is making a beeline for both of them at the bar. Sansa alternates between staring at her roommate and brother, to glancing at Jon beside her who is looking extremely confused, and doing the same. Their eyes meet, and Jon’s are full of bewilderment and what Sansa thinks is slight touch of horror.

Before either of them can say anything Margaery is pulling up in front of them, ducking forward to press two kisses to Sansa’s flushed cheeks.

‘Darling! I’m so sorry I’m so late. I got…. caught up with something. But we’re all here now! Oh, and I see you two have already met, how lovely!’ she says, nodding to Jon and flashing him a smile, which Jon doesn’t return.

Sansa keeps her gaze on the two people in front of her. There are many questions crowding her mind right now, and she’s struggling to pick just one to ask.

‘Robb, what the hell is going on?’ 

Jon’s question just about sums hers all up though.

Robb smiles weakly at him. ‘Hello, Jon.’

Sansa’s eyes snap to her brother, something clicking into place inside her head.

‘This is Jon? The Jon? Your best mate in the city Jon?’

Robb nods. ‘Jon Snow, yeah.’

Jon pipes up. ‘Hello, don’t wear it out, etc.’

Margaery titters at his response, which makes Sansa refocus on her room-mate. As usual she’s far too overdressed for the occasion in a sparkly sequined gold dress which looks totally out of place in the dingy bar. Of course, she’s also totally pulling it off.

‘Marg, why is my brother here?’

‘Wait,’ Jon cuts in. ‘Robb is your brother?’ He turns to Robb, his voice incredulous. ‘Sansa is your sister? But I thought your sister was Arya, and… Sara, or something.’

‘Sansa just moved back to the city, which is why you’ve never met her before - isn’t that right, Sansa?’

‘Right. A couple of months ago.’ Jon collapses into another frown. ‘I still don’t understand what you’re doing here, Robb,’ Sansa adds.

‘To be honest, I don’t even understand what I’m doing here. This was supposed to be just a drink with Robb, at our favourite bar, like always! I have no idea what you other people are here for,’ Jon exclaims. 

Robb opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, strongly reminding Sansa of a goldfish, until Margaery heaves a dramatic sigh. ‘Perhaps I should explain.’

‘Oh, please do,’ Sansa replies flatly.

‘So, you know I’ve been going on those Tinder dates-’

‘Yes, which I don’t understand, because wasn’t this a Tinder date? And instead my brother is here-’

‘Don’t interrupt, darling. Well, I haven’t been quite truthful with you. I have been going on dates, but they haven’t been ones arranged on Tinder. I’ve been seeing Robb. We’re dating,’ she finishes.

Besides her, Robb cringes, waiting for Sansa’s reaction. Now Sansa feels like she’s the one imitating a goldfish. ‘What? How did this happen? Marg, my brother? Really?’

‘Well, when he helped us move into the apartment, we hit it off somewhat, but it was only a couple of weeks ago I decided that we should give it a go. Sansa, I know he’s your brother, but you are happy for us aren’t you? Please say you are - I couldn’t bear it if you weren’t!’ 

The pleading tone in Margaery’s voice softens the shock a little. Robb’s arm is wound round Margaery’s waist, pulling her close, and although his face looks awkward and a little defiant, his hand on Margaery’s hip is sure. She glances between them trying to put them together in her mind. As much as she loves her roommate she wouldn’t have put her down as Robb’s type at all - too high maintenance, perhaps. Apparently she was wrong. ‘Of course I am Marg. It’s just,’ she wrinkles her nose, ‘it’ll take some getting used to.’

Besides her, Jon snorts.’So this is why you’ve been so MIA recently, then,’ he says, speaking to Robb. Robb answers by giving him soft punch on the shoulder.

‘Oh shut up, Snow.’

Margaery sticks out her hand towards Jon, ignoring his earlier comment. ‘I was so insistent on meeting Robb’s best friend. It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Margaery.’

Jon’s eyes widen a little at her boldness, but then he takes her hand and shakes it firmly. ‘Well you already know who I am, but hello.’

Sansa throws up her hands, suddenly exasperated. ‘Alright, alright, we’ve all met each other. But why have you got us all together here?’

Margaery breaks out into a sunny smile. ‘I thought it was a good idea! I know the idea of Robb and I is going to be a strange one for you, so instead of it being this awkward night where you feel like a third wheel, I thought we’d have some fun and double date instead! You see, I wasn’t lying about that part!’ She grins at Jon and Sansa alternately, seemingly very pleased with her little scheme.

Jon yelps. ‘Me? I’m the date?’

Sansa’s heart quickens. She catches Robb mouthing the word ‘sorry’ dramatically to Jon over Margaery’s shoulder.

‘Of course! I’ve heard all about you, and I think you and Sansa would be perfect for each other!’

Sansa chokes, even though she hasn’t taken a sip of her drink in a long while, and Jon coughs awkwardly. ‘Uh, right. Thank you?’

‘Marg,’ Sansa whines, ‘honestly, you don’t have to do this. I’m sure Jon has better places to be too…’

‘Nonsense. What could he have on that’s more important than having a drink with his best friend’s girlfriend and sister? Isn’t that right, Jon?’

Jon’s head jerks into a nod. ‘Right. Of course.’

It’s then that Robb decides is the time to speak, the awkwardness of the situation evidently becoming too much. He puts on a false, blustering tone. ‘Right then, what are we having? Sansa?’

‘I’ve got a drink thank you, brother dear,’ she tells him, and she’s just teasing, wanting to see him flustered, but Robb winces at the semi-sarcasm in her address. 

Margaery peers into her glass. ‘Is that whiskey? Oh no, far better to have a Gin and Tonic. Whatever are you doing drinking that unfashionable thing?’

Besides her Jon chuckles lowly and sends her a slightly clumsy wink. ‘See? I told you.‘

Sansa blushes, and Robb pretends he hasn’t seen any of it. When their drinks are ordered and served they move into one of the sticky red booths. Robb and Margaery climb into one side which leaves Sansa to slide in next to Jon. The booths are small and her knees knock against Jon’s under the table. Robb smiles hesitantly at her from across the table while Margaery begins some story or other, but all she can feel is the minute distance between Jon’s skin and hers. When he shifts in his seat, leaning back against the leather, his shoulder bumps hers, their arms brushing. Sansa near jumps at the feeling that shoots through her.

Robb chips in with something which makes Jon laugh, throaty and deep, but Sansa missed the joke, so she just smiles politely and sips her drink, now a Gin and Tonic - and Jon’s right, it’s good.

Jon was probably kicking himself for coming to her rescue earlier, calling her his girlfriend, even if it was just to get the asshole to go away. Because now it must feel like he was accidentally prophesying the rest of the night, stuck as her date from that point on whether he liked it or not. He was just helping a woman out - he hadn’t signed up for this evening.

Neither had she, but still. Sansa feels wildly embarrassed by her friend’s match-making. Even more by the fact that if she’s honest with herself, she’s really not that adverse to the match herself.

The subject has moved on to one of Robb’s stories, and Jon is nodding and adding in explanations here and there. A fishing trip they went on - Robb fell in the river, apparently. The inn they were staying at wouldn’t allow him in because of his wet clothes - Jon handed him a towel and joked he should strip and go in instead, which Robb promptly did. By the end of it Robb is roaring with laughter, and an easy grin slides across Jon’s features. Sansa’s already realising that laughter and talk don’t come as naturally to Jon as they might do others, but it makes Jon seem refreshingly honest. HIs laughter always means something a little more. Sansa watches Jon adjust his glasses, pushing them up his nose, a tic that she notices he does every couple of minutes. She’s busy staring at at the smooth contour of his face, and yes, okay, imagining his beard, how it would feel rough over her skin if she were to kiss him….when Margaery’s voice brings her sharply back to earth.

‘Sansa? I was just explaining to Jon how we moved to Wintertown from King’s Landing.’

‘Oh. Right. Yeah. Couple of months ago,’ she adds lamely, too dazed to elaborate.

When she doesn’t say any more Margaery shoots her a minuscule frown, and turns back to Jon. ‘Of course, Wintertown and the North is Sansa’s home, and she’d been wanting to come home for ages, so I thought, why not? It’ll be an adventure. Of course, it’s much to cold for me here, but Rob will keep me warm, won’t you darling?’

Sansa nearly gags, and Jon looks away, trying to hide his smile.

‘I thought I’d met all of Robb’s siblings. Of course, I would have remembered you,’ he says, looking her straight in the eye with his sombre grey ones.

Sansa blinks back the shiver that runs through her. His words aren’t flowery or even that flirtatious, but it makes her think, that perhaps there was a small chance she might not be alone in her feelings. She misses a lot of the conversation after that.

xxx

Sansa stares out of the taxi window, watching the streetlights outside streak past in a blur of orange. She hears Margaery tap out a text message, to Robb she assumes, and then slip her phone back into her bag.

‘So?’ Margaery leaves the question hanging and Sansa rolls her eyes at her friend.

‘So, what?’ she replies flatly.

Margaery huffs an impatient sigh and Sansa smiles. If there are two things Margaery likes it’s gossip and being proved right, so Sansa wants to keep her waiting a few minutes more. ‘So, how was your night?’

‘Weird. Apparently I have to get used to the idea of you shacking up with my brother.’

Margaery pouts. ‘Sansa, I know it’s weird, and I’m sorry.’ In a rare act of self doubt, she pulls her bottom lip under her teeth to worry at it. ‘It’s just it’s such an awkward thing and I had no idea how to tell you and Robb wasn’t much help, so I just went over the top, I guess?’

‘By making my night more awkward?’ Sansa says, although she’s only half serious. She can never be too annoyed at Margaery, for she’s only ever well intentioned, and especially not now.

‘It wasn’t so bad was it?’

‘You setting me up with my brother’s friend in front of my brother? Oh no, not at all.’

Margaery is the one to roll her eyes this time. ‘Please, you’re acting like Robb’s your guardian or something. You’re a grown woman Sansa, able to make your own decisions, and besides who would Robb trust with his sister if not his best friend? He didn’t mind when I suggested the date.’

Sansa supposes she hadn’t looked at it like that. She hums in response and falls silent again, going back to staring out the window. Who indeed? Would Robb truly be okay with it, then? Sansa thinks of Jon’s handsome face again, his serious brow and thick beard. Not what she usually found attractive perhaps, but Gods, talk about dark and mysterious….

Margaery lets out a puff of air. ‘Are you going to leave me hanging the rest of the night?’

Sansa stifles a laugh. ‘I’m thinking about it.’

‘Sansa,’ Margaery whines, ‘please. You’ve made me feel so unsure about it now. You enjoyed yourself didn’t you? You liked Jon? You were already talking when Robb and I arrived!’

‘Because you were so late,’ Sansa reminds her, which Margaery brazenly ignores, waving a dismissive hand.

‘I mean, that was just fate. I wish I could take credit, but it made the whole evening a little easier. You were already acquainted by then.’

‘It wasn’t fate Marg, we were in the same bar, and unbeknownst to us, we were there for the same thing.’

‘But still! You liked him, didn’t you? Don’t try and deny it. I know you, Sansa Stark!’

Sansa rests her head against the cool glass of the taxi window, so she doesn’t have to see Margaery’s triumphant expression.

‘Yes, Marg, I liked him a lot,’ she admits softly, hiding her smile. 

It doesn’t stop her from hearing Margaery’s excited giggle.

‘Good thing I have his number then, isn’t it? Would you like it?’

When Sansa turns around she’s holding out a slip of paper which Sansa tucks into her purse for later, determined not to obsess over the digits where Maragery can see her.

‘When you get married, I better be maid of honour.’

Sansa snorts. ‘Slow down Marg. He might have thought the whole night was a disaster. I wouldn’t blame him - I mean, we did basically ambush him.’

Margaery just holds out her phone, message screen open, and her eyes dance in the dim light of the back of the taxi.

‘Oh darling,’ she says, her tone wicked. ‘Reports from Robb say otherwise.’

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Theawants over on tumblr. Come find me if you want. This fic copied from over there.


End file.
